


icarus

by soldiergame



Series: cadere [1]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-13 16:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10517736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldiergame/pseuds/soldiergame
Summary: He only realises that he’s falling when he hits the ground.





	

The thing about love, is that sometimes you only realise that you’re falling when you hit the ground. 

Sandalphon falls. He falls for eyes the colour of a stormy sky, a soft shade of blue that fades into grey, filled with an unfathomable power. He falls for a voice, a voice that commands thousands, maybe even millions of angels. That same voice fills with fondness whenever they spoke, addressing him like they were equals ( _as if_ , he thinks).

Lucifer is the sun, a beacon of light for them, and each interaction leaves his face tingling with a foreign warmth that seems to spread throughout his body.

He doesn’t know when or how it happened, but before he knows it, the shackles of insecurity and inadequacy are tying him down _(You’ll never be his equal, you’ll never be good enough for him, you don’t even have a purpose—)_.

 He tries to reach up, to reach out, to get just an inch closer to that comforting warmth, but—

Lucifer is the sun, bright, warm... untouchable. His presence scorches, searing itself into his memory, and he finds his thoughts straying to the other whenever he is alone ( _What would Lucifer-sama think of this?_ he wonders, before catching himself).

It is distracting, but he welcomes it, a brief reprieve of the doubt and insecurity that constantly plagues his mind, eating away at his self-worth.

In a way, he supposes, he also despises it, the fact that the thing he wants the most is right there, right in front of him, but he can never have it, no matter how far he reaches.

 (Because he is Sandalphon, a being created with power, intelligence, but no defined purpose whatsoever. Who was he to think that he would ever stand on equal ground as the Supreme Primarch?)

 

* * *

 

 He is Icarus, and Lucifer the sun.

(the higher he flies, the faster he falls.)

“Lucifer-sama… ” _Why won’t you tell me my purpose?_ _Why won’_ _t you comfort me? Why won’t you stop shining so that i can finally reach you?_

“Sandalphon?”

 “… it’s nothing.” _I’m nothing, compared to you._

 

* * *

 

Lucifer burns, bright and strong, and he reaches, reaches until the tips of his wings begin to singe and smoke.

His hand reaches out, one more time—

 

 _"_ _Sandalphon is useless. That scrap will be disposed of at an appropriate time."_

.

.

.

useless

.

.

.

_useless_

.

.

.

_u s e l e s s_

 

—but stops, returning to his side in a fist, clenched so tightly that blood drips down his palms. 

Sandalphon falls again, this time, into an abyss of despair…

… and he never reaches up again.

 

* * *

  

(he’s falling,)

 

Sometimes, he wishes that Lucifer would look at him, that those all-knowing eyes would see past the facade he struggles so hard to keep up.

In the end, he thinks, a bitter laugh slipping through his lips, he isn't worth even that.

 

* * *

 

(falling,)

 

They seal him in a prison. Pandemonium, they call it, along with the other rioters. It doesn't matter that he would probably never see the light of day ever again, because to him...

... the sun's light had long since faded away, along with his dreams (illusions) of that warm smile, once again directed at him (and only him).

Hatred and resentment begin to fester in his heart ( _why didn’t you listen, why weren’t you there_ — except that Lucifer had listened, had been there, but even he was unable to notice the agony hidden behind Sandalphon’s reassuring smile), and he begins to despise the light that had once given him so much comfort.

One night(? day? he can’t tell anymore), he rips out his wings in a frenzy (there is no need for them now, not when the sun will never be in his reach again), and each jolt of pain makes the voices that tormented him daily a little duller, a little less real.

He gets new wings eventually, forcibly taken from the primarchs as they fall, one by one, under his relentless onslaught.

(There is something satisfying about ripping their wings off, but there is also another thing about it that makes his stomach lurch.)

 

* * *

 

Sandalphon is quite adept at telling lies. After all, he used to lie to Lucifer on a daily basis, didn’t he? A lie and a smile and an “everything is fine”, despite knowing that he was nothing but a replica, a replacement, a piece of scrap that would never, ever match up to the original.

“I want to watch a world that doesn’t need me burn,” he sneers.

(That too, is a lie.)

The truth is, Lucifer was (and still is) Sandalphon’s world, and he would do anything, anything to see (to feel, to touch) that light again, even if it meant plummeting down, wings (that were not his) ablaze.

“It could’ve been anyone. anyone at all.” _Lie._

“I just wanted one person in the world to tell me that I matter — that I’m needed!” _Truth._

 But truth and lies don’t matter anymore, because Lucifer is here, he is finally, _finally_ here, and he is… apologising?

.

.

.

no

.

.

.

_n o_

.

.

.

_That is not how it should be._

 Icarus is felled by the sun, having dared to fly too close to it, armed with nothing but wings made of feather and wax. He dies, known as a mere mortal who was foolish enough to reach for the sun.

(This couldn’t be a more fitting end, to be destroyed by Lucifer’s — his sun’s — own hands, the only end that he would ever accept.) 

“Hate me, destroy me, punish me!”

 _Don’t let the 2000 years I spent without you be for nothing._  

 

* * *

 

(falling—)

 

He only realises it then, as his body begins to vanish, leaving nothing but a trail of shimmering particles behind, that there was no need to question his purpose in the first place.

The answer was right in front of him, had been since the very beginning. 

“I,” he feels more than he hears himself say. it is a rather strange sensation, talking without a mouth, but even that might be taken away from him soon.

“I wanted to be useful,” the words tumble out before he can stop them, “I wanted to be needed.”

_I just wanted to be loved._

 

(— he hits the ground.)

**Author's Note:**

> granblue fantasy was a mistake
> 
> i wrote most of this while i was semi-conscious at ass o clock in the morning so please let me know if there are any errors
> 
> thank you [ebb](http://archiveofourown.org/users/inberin) and [ein](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jumyouboshi) for proofreading this


End file.
